


Stiles Knew the Librarian had a Dodgy Beard.

by orphan_account



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Cuddles, Derek Saves Stiles, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Swearing, hes just stressed out, mention of pack and sherif, scott is a bit of an ass, some oc's but they die pretty quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:58:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had all gone to shit.<br/>Stiles didn’t want to sound like a whiney asshole- actually, scratch that. A whiney asshole was exactly what he wanted to sound like. He had the right to be a whiney asshole. He had earned and would rightfully fulfil his position as whiney asshole.<br/>Because he had told them so. He had totally told them exactly so, and had they listened?!  No! It was fucking Matt all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 1. I apologize. Its late at night and my brain is tired. 2. Scott is a butthole for a bit, but its just because hes in pain and stressed and stiles has some insecure martyr issues and I might write another chapter where they make up. Derek and Stiles together but they like each other. Not really given it a time setting- some point after season one because the pack is established (and I'm still pretending every member is 100% alive okay), so it can really be set whenever you want. I hope you like it! If you give me kudos I will send you free ice cream (by which I mean you will get nothing except the knowledge you made a young girl happy -and that it totally worth it).

It had all gone to shit.

Stiles didn’t want to sound like a whiney asshole- actually, scratch that. A whiney asshole was exactly what he wanted to sound like. He had _the right_ to be a whiney asshole. He had earned and would rightfully fulfil his position as whiney asshole.

Because he had told them so. He had totally told them, and had they listened?!  No! It was fucking Matt all over again.

And now he’s running, and he’s out of breath, and Scott is a dead weight against him side and his feet are aching like hell and he can’t remember the layout of the building and he knows he can’t possibly outrun this freakin alpha whilst pulling an unconscious werewolf with him but he also knows he can’t just leave _Scott,_ Jesus _Christ._

He’s 130% certain that he and his best friend are about to ripped to pieces, and he cannot believe this is the way they’re gonna go, after everything they went through together, to die here, at freakin school, where their teachers will find their guts decorating the wall tomorrow morning and _holy God_ he can’t die his dad will be alone and Allison will lose Scott- and what if Heather is there and she’s angry -and what will Isaac do- and he didn’t finish his chemistry homework -and he will never know now how exactly that balanced equation worked out and Lydia would know,- _Lydia_ ,- and Jackson will get some email telling him and why does he care about Jackson but _he does_ ,- and his mum, what if she’s there and Derek, he can’t- _**Derek**_ **.**

Scott’s limp feet are dragging along next to him, and suddenly one slips in front of him because everything hates him and he trips, stumbles, nearly balances it out and goes down with a thud, and ow.

Scott’s underneath him, and Scott’s still not waking up, and they are going to die.

He scrambles up to his feet, grabs a hold of Scott’s arms and yanking him, his shoulder feeling like it’s extremely close to just popping out and he’s pulling and tugging desperately and Scott- what the _fuck_ has Scott been eating recently, it’s like trying to tug along an _elephant_ -

Cupboard!

He wrenches Scott the last metre, and no he doesn’t give a fuck about carpet burn because he’s a terrible fucking friend alright, and he tries to turn the handle but he’s too sweaty, his hands keep slipping and he cannot grab it, he cannot physically grab it his hands are slipping over it like he’s grabbed at smoke-

The door slides open.

He hears a ferocious growl from somewhere nearby, somewhere a few turns back maybe, and he thanks the lord he knew how to cut off the electricity because stopping that lift is probably the only reason his liver isn’t being lovingly nuzzled by a wolf, but shit they’re close now.

He grabs Scott’s arms and jerks his upper body into the cupboard, wincing when Scott’s hip slams into the doorway because ouch- and oh shit, there’s more growling and its closer that growl was very close oh dear God.

Scott’s foot finally falls into the cupboard with him and he stretches over the fucking werewolf slumped by his feet- and what was that bullshit he’d had to listen to 12 times over now about how Stiles needed to be careful because he was just human?

Great fucking use the werewolf muscles were coming in now, huh?

He tugs his phone out of his pocket and purposely doesn’t notice how much his hands and shaking or how violently they’re doing it. He reaches into his shirt pocket then, and thank whatever fucking clothes company he had bought it from for making plaid shirts with such massive pockets in the size because he had a whole fucking jar of ash in there.

Not just mountain ash either but his own modified version because he was fucking awesome and intelligence was the ultimate power no matter how many times Boyd beat him arm wrestling.

Another growl from outside and the alpha had to be close, had to be about to round the corner and unless Stiles did this NOW the wolf wouldn’t be confused and it wouldn’t work and he’s too fucking young to die okay -he hasn’t even been to Paris yet.

In desperation, he smashes the jar, slamming it into the ground- and sneezes as it puffs into his nose because Jesus that stuff is like pepper- crap, no time, crap- he lifts his hands and shuts his eyes briefly, and believe Stiles, c’mon, believe and you save Tinkerbell and yourself and Scott what a deal- and he opens his eyes and something small surges in him-

He flicks his hands and the ash seems to shot across the floor, forming a perfect square that spreads the entire way around the inside of the cupboard as well as creating a neat line across the gap under the door.

He breathes out, feels his entire body deflate slowly, before leaning forwards a little and listening carefully.

The alpha is out there, like, right out there because he can hear it snuffling around in the corridor and a constant, low growl. He silently lowers himself to the ground, carefully placing bot hands flat and going into the push up position, letting himself down as quietly and slowly as he can because he doesn’t know whether the alpha is looking near the gap between the door and the floor and the ask will only help block the wolf’s hearing, not his sight.

When he gets his head on the ground, he tilts it and squints. Through the gap, he can see something moving about, but not clearly. There’s something sharp- claws, his mind decides to helpfully inform him, those are claws that are razor sharp and strong enough to break your cheekbone with a poke, physical claws- but its moving, the vague shape if moving along, further down the corridor.

He raises himself back up, and then turns and rolls Scott along the ground until he’s further back and Stiles can rearrange the hockey sticks over him to hide him a little, just in case.

He then sits in front of Scott, as close as possible, and tries not to think about how long Scott has been unconscious for now.

He waits another five minutes, hands fidgeting and occasionally running a hand through him hair, feeling that adrenaline rush of high-energy heart pounding pulse raising panic sink back into a feeling of hidden panic, a thrum that buzzes under his skin.

Then he picks his phone back up, feeling like this is the safest time and if he doesn’t do it now then it’ll be too late when he does, and phones Derek.

It rings once.

It rings twice.

He swears violently just as Derek picks up halfway through the third ring.

“Fucking hell fucking fuck pick up your fucking- he-eey, Derek.”

There’s a sigh from the over end of the line, but he can’t sense if there’s anger there or well-hidden, extremely well-hidden, affection, so he hopes its affection and opens his mouth to speak when Derek gets there first.

“Why is your heart going so quick?”

“Oh no big deal man nothing huge just the fact that me and Scott are stuck in the fucking hockey cupboard at school and there’s a fucking alpha prowling around somewhere on the floor looking to snack on our intestines and I’ve been sitting here for ages but my heart won’t properly calm down dude and can you please _do something_ because I’m freaking out I am too fucking young to die okay I-“

He takes in a huge gasp of air and literally presses his fist to his mouth to try and hold in the hysteria. There’s a small quiet pause and then Derek speaks, sounding oddly concerned.

“Stiles? You still there?”

Stiles makes a harrumphing sound because he doesn’t want to risk the babbling again, pushing his fist a little harder against his mouth and chewing on the plaid sleeve a little, bunching it up around his knuckles because he’s scared and he wants comfort and if that means doing that thing where you hide your fingers in your over-sized sleeves then he will damn well do it okay?

“You said you’re at your school?”

Harrumph.

“That-that sound is not helpful, Stiles.”

He releases the sleeve, rubbing the damp bit between his fingertips as he speaks.

“Yeah.”

He puts his fist back up and chews the sleeve, knees jiggling in his position, cross legged.

“Whereabouts in the school?”

“English block. Second floor. In the storage cupboard, but Derek, you might find it hard to hear us because I used that modified mountain ash and Scots unconscious and please be careful because this alpha means business but also hurry because I’m scared- no shit wait no I’m not scared I didn’t say that-“

“ _Breathe_ , Stiles. I’m on my way. Stay in the cupboard.”

Stiles nods, realises Derek can’t see this, and goes to answer before suddenly a howl starts up from somewhere the floor below, and crap that is loud, that is a howl, and Stiles remembers what howls are for he remembers waving it in fronts of Scott’s face back when he got bitten last year, that wolf is calling for _back-up…_

“Stiles?”

Stiles has flinched all the way back, and he’s now against the box of hockey pucks, and there’s a hockey stick under his ass and he doesn’t give a damn because he cannot breathe.

“Stiles. I’m on my way, okay? I’m coming. I’ll get you out of there.”

Suddenly, hearing those words, Stiles feels air coming through his nose again and the urge to just knock himself out against the wall because it would be less painful than this panic is fading and his heart settles, just a little.

“Okay.”

Stiles hangs up and sits, still jiggling his knees, phone tucked into his pocket. And sits. And sits.

He checks him phone.

It’s been roughly forty seconds since he hung up.

 He sits some more.

About a minute and ten seconds into sitting, a voice comes over the school speaker system.

He recognises that voice. He fucking recognises that fucking voice.

He fucking knew it. He fucking knew it, he knew there was something off about the librarian! The way he had stared when checking out Stiles’ copy of Little Women- it’s a good read okay?!- And his beard had been weird.

“Stiles Stilinski. We know you have Scott McCall with you. We know he’s a true alpha. If you come out and give him to us, you will be spared. We will allow you to go.”

Stiles snorted.

“We don’t wish you any harm, Stiles Stilinski. We only came here for Scott and we will only leave with Scott.”

Scott moans suddenly from behind the hockey sticks and Stiles yelps, having maybe possibly forgotten that Scott was actually with him. He sense Scott shifting to sit up, and hushes him when Scott starts to speak.

“Stiles Stilinski, your father will be waiting at home for you. Why don’t you go home to him? Give us Scott and join your father.”

Stiles snorts again.

“Of course, if you and Scott do not co-operate, we will find you and kill you and take him from you. There’s really no point killing you is there? No point in breaking a parent’s heart.”

Stiles snorts once more but his nostrils are starting to feel sore.

“Or, we could take you and bite you, entice dear of Scott into joining us to keep you safe, and then destroy you once we’ve taken his power from him whilst he’s vulnerable.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, because do these assholes really think he’s just going to give them his best friend?

Scott sits up fully, eyes dark in the dim light of the cupboard, and Stiles knows what he’s going to say before he says it.

“No.”

“I didn’t-“

“But I know what you’re about to say and the answer is no, Scott, you are not going with these dickwads. You left with a bunch of ‘em once before and I can’t risk you going for good this time, alright? So stay there. Derek’s on his way anyway.”

Scott looks confused. “Derek? You called Derek? Why Derek?”

Stiles knee is bouncing so much he nearly knees himself in the face.

“Because Derek’s saved me before and he’ll do it again and he’s the only person in my phone except you that I really trust to come and help, okay? Just accept it and shut up and sit the hell down and wait.”

Scott shakes his head stubbornly, and Stiles knows there’s a fight coming and he wishes for once Scott would just trust him as much as he trust Scott because sometimes it causes this tiny little lump of sad somewhere deep down to think that after how much he’s tried to do and how much he does do for Scott his friend still won’t _listen_ to him.

“Stiles, Derek won’t do anything. I’m not in his pack, why would he give a damn?”

“Whole world doesn’t revolve round you, buddy.” He can’t help the bitterness seeping through, though _this isn’t the fucking time Stiles, pull it together._

Scott looks angry and pulls himself up from where he was sitting, turning towards the door. Stiles jerks upright, pulls himself up because Scott is about to break the line and the wolves will know where they are, when Scott says in a hard voice:

“Just because you have some _school boy crush_ on Derek and you prefer him to your best friend, doesn’t mean he’s going to act like prince charming and save the damsel in distress. I’m the one saving your life here.”

And he grabs a hold of the handle and shoves the door open, even as Stiles shouts no and darts forwards.

Both their heads snap in the direct the howl comes from as it starts up, and is cut off with a yapping and pounding sound from the hall downstairs as the wolves move. Scott staggers a bit and Stiles looks at the injury in his side and the slashes are still there and he knows he can’t let Scott get taken so he grabs a handful of Scot’s blood-matted hair and slams his head into the doorframe, before shoving past him and quickly waving a hand, reassembling the ash from where the door moving had broken the line. This time the ash doesn’t sit right under the door, but inside the cupboard.

Then he runs.

He gets maybe ten steps down the corridor before something barrels into him and sends him flying to the ground with such force he thinks a rib cracks and he can’t help crying out in pain. He can’t get up, there’s a boiling hot sweaty hairy wolf on his back and it’s snarling and snuffling at his hairline and he feels its claws piece the skin stretched over his shoulder blades and drag down, tearing the skin and there are fangs poking at his neck and he winces and cries out again, one last time, desperate and horrified and shocked because this is actually it.

And then the claws are torn from his skin and he bits his lip and the weight vanished from his back and he tries to gather himself up and fails, collapsing weakly against the wall next to him.

When he finds the strength to lift his head up, Derek is there.

Like, right there. His face is weirdly close.

Stiles jumps in shock and his head knocks into the wall behind him with a thunk. Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles thinks he still looks concerned.

Might just be the hysteria talking again.

Derek’s speaking, but Stiles can’t properly hear the words. Everything is a little blurred and out of focus. He shakes his head dumbly, and Derek’s brow contracts.

Stiles thinks he loses time for a bit.

Hands are on him, warm hands, one pulling him up by the elbow and another holding upper arm, and it feels nice and comforting, and there’s blood everywhere, but then he’s outside and its cold and he shivers and..

And now he’s in a car, and its warm again, and someone’s speaking, but he can’t focus,

And then suddenly he’s sitting on Deaton’s steel examination table and everything is loud.

“There he is! Mr Stilinski, glad to see you’re back with us!”

Stiles grunts, still slightly (very) confused.

Derek is sitting on a chair by the wall opposite, and he’s watching with a frown on his face and an unhappy curl to his lips. Stiles tries and fails not to hope that it’s out of worry for Stiles’ wellbeing.

He shudders again. “It’s cold.”

His voice sounds odd, even to himself, flat and disjointed. He clears his throat.

Deaton looks at him with something akin to sympathy. “You went into shock.”

Stiles nods. Shudders again.

Derek gets up at that, looking angry now. “I’m taking him home, Deaton. Look at him, he needs sleep.”

Deaton nods, giving Stiles a quick look over. Stiles glances down and spots white bandages all over his chest. He looks up again.

“Thanks doc. Is Scott- is Scott okay?”

Deaton smirked a little at that and exchanged the look with Derek, who answers.

“Apart from having half of a door embedded in his skull, he’s fine.”

 

Stiles is silent the whole way home, and he would like to say it was because he was thinking of important things like homework- oh shit he still has to finish his chemistry equations- and how to avoid nearly being killed again.

But he’s not.

He’s mulling over what Scott said. He called it a ‘school boy crush’. Stiles knew, alright, he knew his little thing for Derek was pathetic, that he had no shot in hell, but it had hurt hearing it from Scott’s mouth. He didn’t even realise Scott knew, he thought he was keeping it well hidden. When Erica had given him funny looks for a while after the shoelace incident- which no, he will not be mentioning ever again- he went and bought Lydia a massive bouquet of red roses and sport-fully accepted a punch at half-strength from Jackson to the stomach.

Clearly that hadn’t even been enough to hide how pathetic he is. God. 

They pull up outside of his house, and he tugs off his seatbelt and turns to Derek. Opens his mouth.

“I’ll be in your room “, says Derek, before getting out the car.

Stiles sits for a second, because what?

But then he gets out too, and heads inside.

His dad is in the living room, but he’s asleep and Stiles is profoundly grateful that he won’t have to put up with being interrogated over his bruises till tomorrow. He spots the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table and the photo album next to it, manfully blinks away a sudden wetness in his eyes and pretends he doesn’t see them before pulling a blanket and dropping a kiss to his old man’s forehead.

When he gets upstairs, Derek is indeed in his room. Lounging on his bed like he fucking belongs there (Stiles wishes he did belong there. Wait. No. Ugh, yes. Shut up.)

The werewolf looks up from where he’s reading Little Women- no, he wasn’t kidding earlier, it really was the book he checked out of the library. Derek leans his head towards the pages, sniffs a bit.

“The librarian?”

“Yup.”

“Ah.”

Derek looks amused for half a second, before he looks serious and annoyed again.

“Stiles, why in hell did you shut Scott in the cupboard instead of letting him fight?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and didn’t answer, shuffling over to the drawers and digging out his pyjamas. And yes those are check-pattern pyjamas and no he doesn’t want your attitude about it.

When he tries to tug off his own clothes, he can’t hide a wince as they tug at the bandages on his back and he hears Derek’s frustrated exhale before a pair of big hands are gently tugging his top up over the bandages and off of his shoulders. Stiles jumps a little, still keyed up and not having heard Derek move, and Derek mutters and apology while helping him into his pyjama top.

Once he’s dressed he waves Derek towards the desk chair and gets into bed, on his stomach, turned so he could face Derek before he talks.

“They wanted his power, Derek. He was weak already, he wasn’t healing quickly enough and if he fought them they would take him and kill him and take his power and kill everyone.”

Derek narrowed his eyes and Stiles shut his own, exhaustion sweeping over every single one of him bones, and he sinks into the mattress a bit.

“So you thought you would die instead?”

“I thought I’d try and distract them with my intestines till you got there. If I die, although it’s not preferable, at least they can’t steal all my power and kill you and the others with it too.”

He’s mumbling and he knows it but he doesn’t care. The bed is warm and comfortable and with Derek in the chair he’s safe and he wants to lie and soak up the feeling for a bit.

“What, so because you aren’t a true alpha you think your life isn’t important?”

“S’not.”

There’s a pause.

There’s a shift in the mattress behind him, and something settles next to him. He feels himself moving a little in its direction as the mattress dips beneath it.

Derek’s voice comes from right behind his ear. He shifts, sleepily, to face Derek but keeps his eyes shut.

“You can’t really think that.”

He lifts one shoulder.

“That’s not true Stiles. Think of your dad, Scott, the pack. They’d be miserable.”

He nuzzles his cheek into the pillow.

“They’d get over it. They might like me but I’m not essential. Might’ve been if I took the bite, but…”

The mattress shifts as Derek moves a little, onto his back with his head and shoulders propped up on the headboard, looking down at Stiles in the light from the bedside lamp. He shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t give it to you. I know you’d only be asking because you think you’re not useful, not because you want it. And Scott wouldn’t either.”

Stiles half smiles. “I meant Peter. When he offered.”

He feels the change in the air and opens his eyes again. Derek is staring down at him, eyes dark and angry, mouth a thin line.

“He what?”

Stiles reached out. He didn’t know why he did it and he would blame it on the after effects of shock and almost dying and the like, and he reached out and lay his hand on Derek’s chest. Derek’s eyes widen, and then his faces, ever so-slightly, softens.

“Was a while ago. Don’t worry ‘bout it. But- if I took it. I could be better.”

Derek shook his head. Stiles shut his eyes again and flexed his hand a little, liking the feel of Derek, solid and warm and comforting and next to him.

“You’re fine as you are. Why do you think I tore my way through a beta and an alpha within ten seconds of arriving tonight, Stiles?”

Stiles hums, and murmurs “Scott’s alpha stuff. If you guys will just agree to work together, in each other’s packs, you’ll both be powerful. Like, very.”

Derek slowly lifted one of his hands and interlaced the fingers with those of Stiles on his chest. He squeezes a little and something achingly fond warms his stomach when he hears Stile’s heart skip a beat at the contact.

“No, Stiles. I don’t care that much about Scott. He’s a good kid but he was safe in the cupboard. I ripped those wolves apart to get to you, Stiles.”

A slow, happy grin spreads over Stiles’ face and he shuffles, closer, until he can tuck his head under Derek’s armpit and rub his nose on his chest, feeling the warmth of the older man soak into his side and soothe his aching muscles. Derek’s hand, the one not interlaced with Stiles’, brushes gently down his back, surprisingly gently, and softly strokes at the bandages around Stiles’ shoulders, remembering with a twinge the sound of pain Stiles had made that he had heard when he got to the second floor. He couldn’t remember running quick so fast in his life.

When he’s certain Stiles had fallen into a slumber, warm and safe and alive against his side and not letting off waves of pain or sadness or fright, he bends his head and quickly lets his lips brush against Stiles’ forehead, before he settles back against the headboard, tugs Stiles into his side a little tighter, and doesn’t let a small grin grace his features (he totally does. He smiles.)


	2. Scott Hates Feeling Like an Ass and Ruins His Slippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God he feels like an ass.
> 
> So he rolls out of bed, tugs on a hoodie over his pyjama top- look leave his pyjamas alone check-pattern is cool- tugs on some slippers, walks down the stairs and drinks some coffee.
> 
> He doesn’t want to make this bound-to-be-awkward apology without any caffeine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it without making Scott and Stiles make up again it felt wrong

Scott wakes up the next morning and the painful deep claw marks in his side have been replaced with that deep down feeling of guilt that comes from knowing you’ve been a bit of a shit.

He honestly hadn’t meant to bring up Stiles’ feelings for Derek. Even as his mouth had opened and the words had come out, cold and distinct, an angry voice that sounded hella like his mom’s shouted “what the hell are you doing?? Red light! Red light! Turn back, reverse, stop!” And he had ignored it. And now look. He felt like shit.

It wasn’t even that he had used Stiles’ feelings against him but he had made them sound so… _infantile_ , calling it a ‘schoolboy crush’. He knows he has no right to even try and use any romantic feelings Stiles’ had for anyone against him ever because of all that crap he had spouted around the poor dude during his obsession with Allison (which was over. It was. It was completely over. All gone. What? No, that’s not her photo as his wallpaper. Stop looking at his laptop. Stop it!)

Anyway, he knows he’s in the wrong and he feels terrible about it. He’s not even supposed to know that Stiles likes Derek, but he’s known for months because he’s Stiles’ best friend even if he’s not very good at the job and he knows everything about him.

God he feels like an ass.

So he rolls out of bed, tugs on a hoodie over his pyjama top- look leave his pyjamas alone check-pattern is cool- tugs on some slippers, walks down the stairs and drinks some coffee.

He doesn’t want to make this bound-to-be-awkward apology without any caffeine.

When he’s done he gets up and heads on out the door only to be stopped by his mom.

“Honey? Why are you going out in your slippers?”

He sighs heavily, turns around. “I was an ass and I need to go apologise. To Stiles. For being an ass.”

Her face falls into a mixture of sympathy and disappointment and he really hates that look.

“What did you do, hon?”

He sighs again with more gusto. “I was mean about the fact he likes somebody.”

She looks even more disappointed and he still has this churning in his gut and suddenly it intensifies and he kind of hates himself even more and before he knows what’s happening he’s running down the driveway right past his car- his keys are in his hands what’s happening why doesn’t he stop and get in the car- and he’s running off down the road in the direction of Stiles’ house.

Halfway there he gives up trying to talk his feet into stopping and turning around and resigns to the fact his slippers are ruined.

He arrives out of breath, with mud all over his legs and one still healing fracture somewhere in his leg from the car that hit him when he ran across the road without looking. He’s still clutching his keys and one of his slippers is literally dangling around behind him as he runs and he needs to say this right now so that his gut will stop hurting.

He climbs up the tree outside Stiles’ window, gets halfway, falls down, goes for it again, opens the window and springs through, rolling over, leaping to a standing position in front of Stiles’ bed and-

“I’M SORRY!”

He breathes out, a long breath, shoulders dropping with the force of it and then he actually takes in the room around him and freezes.

Stiles, Stiles is in his bed, which was to be expected. But he was sitting up and staring at Scott with wide open eyes, a stunned look on his face, and a protective and growling Derek half on top of him, baring his teeth at Scott.

Whose face is slowly splitting into a grin.

Stiles shakes himself out of his stupor, and Scott watches him put his face over Derek’s shoulder, pulling him back a bit. Derek is sort of half on Stiles and is sleep ruffled and is trying to protect predator but sort of failing and it’s kind of adorable.

Stiles sits up more and the duvet falls off of his shoulders and his bandages are on view suddenly, and he’s wincing and Derek stops growling instantaneously and gone is the predator, and here is some odd sort of mother-hen, fussing and trying to pain-zap-away Stiles’ who is batting his hands off with an amused, fond look on his face.

Scott sees the bandages and a feeling of shame takes over, of guilt.

Stiles pushes Derek away with a hissed ‘down, boy’, and they both turn to Scott, who doesn’t fail to notice the way Derek is still protectively a little in front of Stiles, like he’s trying to shield him from any more upset Scott can cause.

He clears his throat, and says again: “I’m sorry, Stiles. For what I said. It was mean and I woke up feeling crap about it this morning and I ended up running the entire way here in my pyjamas and slippers- even though I have my car keys I don’t know why I didn’t drive I really don’t- and I’m sorry. And”- he waggles his eyebrows in Derek’s direction- “clearly I was wrong.”

Stiles blushes a little but a small smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

“S’fine bro. I embedded your head into a door frame, we’re even.”

The feeling of shit lifts immediately, and Scott feels twenty times better, letting his sunniest grin come out at his best friend, who laughs at him.

“Want pancakes?”

It should probably feel awkward, Scott thinks, sitting at a table and eating pancakes with Stiles while Derek Hale keeps throwing his bestie these little looks and smiling all warmly and weirdly.

But it’s not.

It’s actually pretty nice. 

(Even if he drops his fork and nearly vomits from how sickeningly sweet it is that Stiles and Derek's feet are all tucked together under the table)

 


End file.
